


Faces

by merrypornster (merryprankster)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:38:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryprankster/pseuds/merrypornster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It wasn’t an easy task, getting Arthur to come all undone like this."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faces

**Author's Note:**

> High School AU is the best AU.

Though Eames didn’t care to admit it, he quite like the many faces of Arthur that he interacted with over the course of a day. There was the serious Arthur, the one that frowned at him whenever he made the slightest jab. There was the rare carefree Arthur, the one whose dimples Eames always noticed in spite of himself. The frustrated Arthur, the one that snapped at Eames and Eames snapped back and they got over it the next day. There were a number of others, too, but Eames had to say this one was by far his favourite.

It wasn’t an easy task, getting Arthur to come all undone like this. Arching and grunting and eyebrows knitting together in what could be misunderstood as pain. If anyone did get the chance to see him like this and not be in the position that Eames was in now, that would quickly be cleared up by the terribly erotic keening and moaning coming out of his mouth. Not too loud, so as not to raise suspicion among their dorm neighbours, but loud enough for Eames to get the message loud and clear.

The reason Arthur was making these sounds and these wonderful faces was because his pants were around his knees, and Eames was holding himself up above his midsection, mouth sliding up and down Arthur’s cock. Eames didn’t think himself very good at giving blow jobs, nor did he really enjoy giving them all that much, but to a teenage boy with overflowing hormones, a warm, wet mouth was probably the best feeling in the world no matter how much technique was involved. It certainly elicited much more of a reaction than a regular old hand job would. When Arthur was on the receiving end of a hand job, he closed his eyes in concentration, settled into a steady pant and maybe made a bit of noise if the pace was right and he was about to come. That was nothing compared to the writhing legs beneath Eames’ torso, the desperate fingers mussing Eames’ hair, and the _sounds_. Dear God, the sounds.

Eames didn’t fancy himself very selfless or generous, but hearing Arthur enjoy himself this much sent pleasure right down his spine and into his very hard dick.

“Fuck!”

Ah, a word managed to get out. Eames knew just by how much time had gone by that Arthur was nearly finished, and he knew from experience that Arthur wouldn’t be able to give much more warning than a tug on his hair. That was alright - the first time maybe he had been a bit caught off guard and couldn’t manage to stop coughing the rest of the night, but now he knew what to do as Arthur tensed and came, letting out a ridiculous sound that Eames would have given him a hard time for if he was fine exploring his relationship with his hand for a month or so.

Arthur was pretty good at holding grudges.

In any case, Eames’ was getting up and making it to the bathroom in a few short strides, so he could spit in the sink and wash out his mouth. Arthur didn’t mind - not only was he too busy collecting himself, but Arthur had a tendency to let Eames know just how disgusting it was to have a mouthful of ejaculate whenever the tables were turned, though that never stopped him from going back and doing it again when the situation presented itself. They were just kids - blow jobs felt like a part of growing up, just like the complications in their relationship that were easily forgotten all the time, shrugged off as just being part of the messy web of teenage feelings that no one ever really talked about. All of that was alright, because to Eames and to Arthur, both of whom really didn’t have much experience at all to speak of, blow jobs were the best thing ever and could literally fix every problem.

As Eames looked vaguely around for some mouthwash or something, Arthur wandered into the bathroom, moving lazily. He grabbed a hand towel and unceremoniously stuck it down his pants for a moment before throwing it in the laundry basket and walking back out into his dorm room, avoiding eye contact the whole time. Eames imagined he just didn’t feel up to dealing with the tent in Eames’ pants, but couldn’t outright say it. Arthur always started acting a little weird when he knew he was responsible for an erection and wasn’t really mentally prepared to help get rid of it. When Eames was already horny, Arthur didn’t seem to have any trouble snorting and telling him to go take care of it himself if he wasn’t in the mood. But when it was a direct result of something Arthur did, he started getting squeamish, as if he was uncomfortable with the idea of being attractive. Eames wanted to tell him one of these days that while he wasn’t an altogether bad looking person, it was more the making out and sexual acts that did it for him.

Speaking of being horny...

Eames winced as his hard-on brushed against the counter’s edge, letting Eames know that it wasn’t quite ready to go away yet. He looked down at it with a frown, looked up at Arthur who was sprawled out on his bed, and then reached over to close the door.

“I’m using your bathroom for a minute,” he announced.

He saw Arthur sit up with a look of shock and concern (primarily for the state of his bathroom, Eames imagined) on his face. “What-- hey!”

It was too late. Eames had closed and locked the door and his hand was already down his pants as he pressed his back to the wall and slid down to sit on the floor. From outside he heard Arthur say, “clean up after you’re done,” but Eames had no intention of leaving a mess behind anyway. That would just be mean.

Pushing his pants and boxers out of the way, Eames went about making quick work of his erection. He let his head fall back and his mind drift, cycling through a routine batch of images, flashes of positions he wanted to try and things he wanted to see. There was Kate from English class, who had these wonderful freckles and breasts that looked like they were fighting to get out of her cardigan. Amanda from study hall, who was bossy as hell and Eames always wondered if that would translate into the bedroom. There were a couple guys from the swim team, who he had heard rumours about, and although he’d never admit it he’d had a few fantasies about putting his tongue on all that lean muscle and breathing in the chlorine and aftershave. And in between all these, the strongest images of all because he’d actually seen them, was Arthur. Mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut, back arching, all for Eames. All because Eames knew what to do and was doing it in all the right ways.

It really shouldn’t turn him on this much, but it does, and it’s not long before he’s letting out a strangled moan and coming into his hand.


End file.
